


Red Sky at Night

by reeology



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward First Time, Excessive Swearing, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, Pirates, brigands, sea serpents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 09:17:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3284996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reeology/pseuds/reeology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Dean and first mate Sam travel the seas hunting monsters. When a sea serpent renders them shipwrecked, they have to steal a new ship to defeat the monster before it can attack the town. What they don’t know is that Castiel is already aboard the ship preparing for the same mission. Accidental kidnapping and reluctant romance ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Sky at Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for antiquitydreams in 2010.

“Nghh,” Dean groaned as he awoke to white light scorching his eyelids and sand in unfamiliar places. His face felt hot and painful--a mightily wicked sunburn that extended across every exposed inch of skin, including the backs of his hands. Slowly, achingly, he sat up and carded his hands through his hair, dislodging pain and sand every which way. His scalp was burned, too.

This, he supposed, was a definite sign that shit went down.

“What the fuck,” he croaked, shielding his eyes from the merciless sun as he swayed to his feet. He looked down the length of the beach and saw sand, endless fucking sand, and that was no help. But it was better than what he saw when he looked at the ocean: the weak, cracked mast of his beloved ship bobbing and floating on the water. When the waves broke after cresting, he could see bits of rope and splintered rope washing ashore with the tide.

Son of a bitch.

He flopped back into the sand and closed his eyes, trying to figure out how exactly he'd wound up shipwrecked with sand down his pants. Alone. And crispy. The last thing he remembered was trying to harpoon a sea serpent, but then his memory quickly went black.

His mouth felt like cotton. He groped for his canteen but found it missing. With a loud swear, he discovered that his knife and pistol were missing too. Either the sea had taken them or some asshole had robbed his unconscious body. Fucking great.

Dean thumped his fist in the sand and swore again. He was going to have to find a town and stock up. But first, he had to find Sammy and the rest of the crew. Then they either had to repair the ship or find a new one. And then they were gonna kill that fucking sea serpent.

He was plotting out the specifics of how to best take it down (and trying to convince his legs to work) when the sun and his empty canteen became too much for him and he slipped into unconsciousness a second time. He didn't faint, because Winchester men were incapable of fainting—he merely passed out. Masculinely.

The next time he woke up, it was to someone with giant monster hands shaking his shoulders so hard that his head was flopping back and forth. He grunted, trying to convey that whoever it was, he'd really like them to fucking stop that, but his throat was so dry that he couldn't get the words out. When he opened his eyes, his field of vision was immediately filled with floppy bangs partially obscured by a gaudily feathered tri-cornered hat.

The hat was new, but the hair was familiar. Dean blinked and struggled to sit up. He conked heads with a gigantic forehead and fell back onto the sand.  The hat fell too.

“Shit,” said a voice. Sam's voice. And that had been Sam's gigantic forehead and Sam's freaky monster hands manhandling him.

Well, okay then. Step one: complete. Onto step two.

Dean winced and made a second attempt at sitting up. This time, Sam scrambled back and gave him ample room while still holding his hands out, hovering protectively in case Dean suddenly keeled over.

Impromptu nap number two had made him even crispier. He could feel his skin stretching painfully when he moved. “Where are the others?” he croaked.

“In town,” Sam said, helping him to his feet. He put his arm around Dean’s shoulders when Dean swayed and nearly pitched into the oncoming tide.

Huh. All right. Steps two and three. Onto step four. Dean turned his head to squint at his brother to ask about the ship repairs, but the look on Sam’s face brought him up short. It seemed like Sam knew exactly what he was going to ask.

“I’m sorry, Dean, the _Impala’s_ gone,” Sam said with a shake of his head. “We couldn’t even find her.”

Something hard and cold settled into the pit of his stomach. He felt nauseous. It might have been the heat exhaustion, but he doubted it. “I found her,” he grunted, kicking a stray piece of debris in the sand.

“Dean,” Sam said in that irritatingly sympathetic way he had, all big brown eyes and floppy hair and ugh.

“It’s that damn woman,” Dean growled, giving Sam a shove to start walking.

Sam gave him a flat look and obstinately refused to move. “Dean, you know that’s just a superstition, right?”

“Did a superstition sink our boat, Sam?” he snapped. “No, Jo did. And don’t give me that look. Just start walking, okay?”

Sam looked at him like he very much disagreed and wanted to stay put until they’d hashed out all their delicate girl feelings. His lips were pressed together so tightly that they were thin and pale. Miraculously, Sam decided to put away their emotional pow-wow for now. He just nodded and they began to walk. The sand eventually turned into dirt and grass. When they reached an area thick with trees, Dean shrugged Sam’s arm off his shoulder and started bracing himself against the trunks as they walked.

It was on the outskirts of town when Dean’s strength started to wane and he, being a manly man as he was, decided to sit and “get a feel” for the town before they went any further. It had absolutely nothing to do with pain or exhaustion. He sat down on a rock and rubbed his aching legs, frowning with thought. “How long did it take you to find me?”

Sam pulled off his coat and spread it out on the ground before sitting on it. Squinting, he looked off into the distance and said, “About a day after I woke up, so who knows. Maybe two. You were washed up on the other side of town from everyone else.”

Dean had a flash of memory: the salty surf in his face and the animalistic gleam in the sea serpent’s eyes as it thrashed him around in the air. He’d been torn from the ship and thrown overboard. Curious, he examined his coat and waistcoat and noticed they were torn. Forget whining about being sore and sunburnt, he was lucky to be fucking alive.

He felt nauseous again when he realized the rest of his crew might not be so lucky. He cleared his throat and forced out the words, “Is everyone…?”

Sam flicked the feather in his hat aside and gave him a knowing look. “Everyone made it out alive. We’re split up between the inn and the tavern.”

Oh, thank God. The tavern; just what he needed. Dean was going to say something along those lines, but then Sam touched the brim of his hat again and Dean had to do a double-take. “What the hell are you wearing, man?”

Sam adjusted his hat self-consciously. It was huge and black and the feather was far too large and fuzzy. “It’s what everyone in town is wearing. I thought it’d help us blend in. I got you some new clothes too.”

Dean pointed to his outrageously red sunburnt face and said, “You honestly think I’m not gonna stick out like this?”

Sam barely held back a smirk. “Well, when I got it, I didn’t know you’d be a crispy critter.”

Dean didn’t think it was fair that Sam could look so fucking smug with a big fluffy feather hanging in his face. He reached out and smacked it aside, managing to give Sam a good whack across the nose too. “You,” he said, pushing off the rock and climbing to his feet, “are a douchebag. Let’s go get drunk.”

* * *

Jo was huddled at a table with Gabriel, nursing a mug between her hands. Work on the ship had made her hands strong and rough, but the shape of them was still undeniably feminine. She had them hidden underneath the lacy cuffs of her coat, and the tight-fitted waistcoat flattened her chest enough that anyone who didn’t know her wouldn’t have noticed. In fact, Dean hadn’t noticed for a whole three months until they’d run across a brigantine in the middle of the night and Dean had made the call for battle stations. Jo had appeared on deck in just her shirt and stockings, which would have been admissible enough, had the moonlight not revealed the shapely curve of her breasts. There’d been a heated discussion about bad luck and throwing her overboard, but in the end Sam had given him some great speech about morality and human decency and Jo was free to stay.

And a fat lot of good it had done them, now that the _Impala_ was rotting at the bottom of the fucking ocean while Jo laughed and drank at the tavern. The sight of her was enough to make Dean enraged, and he stormed over and slammed his hand on the table before she or Gabriel could greet him.

“You,” he growled. “You sank our ship.”

 “What, no hello for your beloved crew?” Gabriel asked. He looked Dean up and down and smirked. “Oh, I see. A bit red in the face, are we?”

Dean pointed in Gabriel’s face. “That’s not funny. Say anything else and I’ll kill you.”

Unfazed, Gabriel waggled his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair. His cheeks were already bright and ruddy, a sure sign that he’d been drinking long before Dean had even awoken. “Oh, sure, threaten me after we’ve just escaped from a brutal sea serpent at your command. How will you ever avenge your masculinity if you kill your crew before you can set sail?”

“We need a ship before we can worry about that shit,” Dean said angrily. He dropped into a chair with a loud thump and stole Jo’s mug, draining it in one long drink. It burned on the way down. He slammed the mug down and glared at Jo while his eyes could still focus. “And thanks to _her_ , we don’t have one.”

A man in a shabby waistcoat with no coat and linen stockings peered curiously at them over the rim of his mug. Mostly at Jo, clearly eying her for signs of womanhood. Dean bit back a curse and gritted his teeth.

“So if you see her,” he added reluctantly, “tell her she’s no longer welcome on our ship.”

Jo’s face turned red. “That’s ridiculous. She’s part of your crew. Where is she supposed to go?”

Dean shrugged, reclining in his chair and propping his boots on the table. “She could stay here in town. It’s not safe for a woman on a ship, anyway.”

The back of Jo’s chair hit the floor as she stood, strands of her long hair slipping free of the ribbon holding it back. She looked like she was either going to punch Dean in the face or storm out. Dean knew she’d do neither, so he liberated Gabriel of his mug and started drinking that too.

“Dean, stop it,” Sam said, ever the mediator. He put his hands on Jo’s shoulders and kept them there until she sank back into her seat, still angry but less violent. He frowned at Dean across the table like he was disappointed he could ever treat women as lesser beings, like the whole freakin’ world wasn’t doing that already. “Joanna is a good sailor and we’d be happy to have her on our ship. Besides, Ellen would kick our asses if she found out we left her one and only daughter in—um, wherever we are.”

“Kingston Harbor,” Gabriel said with a laugh. “Good ol’ Kingston Harbor, always there to kick you in the ass.”

Sam furrowed his eyebrows. “You know it?”

“Oh yes, very well,” he said, smiling a drunkard’s wide, who-really-gives-a-fuck smile. “I was born here. You can guess how much I liked it given that I ran away to join Captain Dean and his ragtag crew of blunderers.”

“I’m sure he meant plunderers,” Sam said with a polite jab of his elbow to Gabriel’s ribs.

“Good to know,” Dean muttered. “We’re stuck in a piece of crap town with a girl and no ship.”

“Oh, we won’t be stuck without a ship for long,” said Gabriel. He leaned forward drunkenly in his chair and beckoned Dean closer. “In fact, I saw a fancy little sloop down by the harbor that’s got our name on it. We can be on our way before sunrise.”

“A sloop, huh?” Dean sank back in his chair and looked thoughtful. A sloop would be good for speed and maneuvering, something his beloved giant _Impala_ hadn’t had. He rubbed his chin and nodded. “Okay, let’s go for it. Do you know where it’s docked?”

Gabriel snorted mirthfully. “Do I know where it’s docked. Of course I do. I’ve got a whole plan already, captain.” He tapped his temple and winked at him. “Just you leave it to me.”

* * *

“Castiel? Are you well?” Anna asked from the doorway with a frown.

Castiel looked up from where he’d been gazing at the harbor through the window, frowning in return. He wasn’t particularly unwell, per say. He was understandably nervous but he felt fine otherwise. “Yes,” he said.

Anna sat across from him in one of the room’s two couches, a red, luxurious affair that contrasted nicely with her vibrantly green dress. She nearly disappeared in the enormous puff of her hoop skirt, but her bright hair and keen eyes were still visible beneath the artful swoop of her hair. “It’s okay if you’re nervous.”

Castiel shook his head, choosing to sit in an ornately gilded chair in the corner rather than sit next to or across from her. “I have no strong feelings either way. It’s my duty.”

Fingering the pearls around her neck, Anna gave him a private smile and said, “You can be honest with me, you know.”

Castiel blinked at her. “I am being honest.”

Her smile turned grim. “So you’re not worried at all about having to slay a giant leviathan before it attacks the town, and you have absolutely no misgivings against father for making you do this?”

Castiel tilted his head curiously. “I don’t see why that matters. Either I’ll kill it or I won’t. Father’s made all of us prove our worth before inducting us.”

“All the men, anyway,” Anna muttered, dropping her hand. She turned her head, resting her arms on the outrageous hoops of her skirt, and stared out the same window Castiel had been looking out of. “What were you looking at?”

“The _Dominion_ ,” Castiel said. The small sloop had been in the family for years but had recently been gifted to Castiel for his venture. Through the window, Castiel could see her single mast standing out against the horizon line, the sails furled, waiting for her captain.

Interim captain, technically. He still had to prove himself before his father, the Admiral, would make the order official.

With no warning, he rose to his feet and went to the door. “I should finish my calculations for the voyage.”

“Oh, I see,” Anna said with a smirk in her voice. “You are nervous.”

Castiel paused, back stiffening. “What makes you say that?”

“Because I snooped in your room and I know for a fact you finished those yesterday,” she said smugly. With some effort, she rose to her feet and flattened the numerous folds of her giant dress. She smiled at him. “Go on, go have a look at it before you set sail tomorrow.”

“Her,” Castiel corrected absently.

Anna rolled her eyes. “Her, whatever. You’ve been staring at her all day. Go check her over and get a feel for her and I’m sure you’ll feel better.”

Castiel hesitated in the doorway, one hand trailing on the frame. “That wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

“Please spare us your moping and just go do it.”

Castiel felt himself smile. Anna’s bluntness had a point. Ducking his head, he said, “I see what you mean,” and left the room for the harbor.

* * *

The crew waited until nightfall before they slinked down to harbor in shifts to steal the sloop. Dean went with Sam and Bobby, mostly because Bobby refused to travel on land with anyone else. Bobby’s wooden legs had a tendency to sink into the dirt or the grass or the mud—pretty much anything that wasn’t the smooth, sanded wood of a ship. There would never be another ship like the _Impala_ , bless her wooden, sunken heart, but Dean was sure Bobby would be less of a walking disaster as soon as they got him back on the sea.

“God dammit,” Bobby swore as he stumbled, one peg leg stuck wedged in a gap between two rocks. He yanked on it, stumbled again, and sighed resignedly. “Boys?”

“Coming,” Sam said, stopping along one side and looping his arm around Bobby’s shoulder. He waited expectantly until Dean did the same, and then they both lifted him out of the hole.

“This is getting a little old,” Bobby muttered, lurching forward again. His wooden legs were more or less muffled until they hit the wooden planks of the dock, and his tap-tap-tapping could be heard by anyone. The trio stilled, looking in every direction for the light of a torch or a lantern, and crouched in the shadows.

“Dude,” Dean said after a few minutes of stillness had passed, “I think we’re gonna have to carry you.”

“No way in hell,” Bobby said.

“Just until we’re inside,” Sam said in that reasonable, listen-to-me-I’m-the-practical-one tone of voice he had.

Coincidentally, it coincided with Dean’s hurry-the-fuck-up-I-think-I-saw-a-lantern declaration of, “Dammit, Bobby!”

Bobby had a clear moment of this-is-such-bullshit before he threw up his arms and said, “Fine, let’s just get it over with.”

So they carried him, sneaking across the black of the half-moon night toward the sloop—the _Dominion_ , as the lovingly painted name on the side stated. They crept up to her, holding their breaths for any sounds of a disturbance, and then nodded to each other. Up went Sam first, followed by Bobby, who was clearly trying to contain his annoyance at having to be hauled aboard by two men half his age. And then it was Dean’s turn.

When Dean tumbled aboard the boat, the first thing that he noticed was the smell: a sharp, metallic smell that was all too familiar. His hands went straight to the new pearl-handled pistol he’d liberated from a shop in town, pulling the hammer back as he crept forward.

On the deck lay the body of Rufus, his sword fallen at his side and a pool of blood spreading out underneath him. Jo wasn’t far, sitting propped against the mast and breathing shallowly. When she saw Dean standing in the moonlight, she gasped and said, “Dean, watch out!”

He ignored her, running to her side to check the damage. She shivered underneath his hands. “Who did this to you?”

“There was a stowaway on the ship,” she said, pushing him away. “I’m fine. We surprised him below and he chased us up here. I think Gabriel is fighting him somewhere—”

“Son of a bitch!” came Bobby’s voice, followed by a loud thump and two smaller, hollower ones. Jo and Dean looked at each other in confusion.

“Or not,” she finished weakly.

Dean patted her shoulder and rose to his feet, holding his pistol purposely in front of him. “Don’t worry about it,” he told her, stealing off toward the sound of Bobby still cussing. “Sam’s with him.”

When Dean caught up to all the commotion, he saw that Sam was already kicking ass. He had the intruder on the ground, his knee pressed into his back, and was effectively shoving his face into the planks.

Dean sighed in relief and slid his pistol back into its harness. “Everything okay here?”

“No, everything is _not_ okay,” Bobby snapped.

Dean blinked and looked around. “Bobby?” he called. “Where are you?”

“On the damn deck.”

Dean looked down and stared when he saw Bobby lying vulnerable on the floor, his two peg legs strewn out of arm’s reach. It looked pitiful, not to mention painful. “Are you dying?” he asked.

“Not unless you can die from losing your pride,” Bobby grunted. He was already using his arms to heave himself into a sitting position, scooting his butt along to deck to reach his legs.

That sounded promising. He’d be okay. “I’m gonna check on Rufus, then,” Dean said, and took off at a run to his other crew member. Jo was already at his side, shaken but competent, putting pressure on the wound.

She looked up at him through the veil of her golden hair and said, “If you get some rum and something for me to stitch him up, I think he’ll be okay.”

Dean nodded, tearing off under the deck to raid the cabins for supplies. Rufus was his first priority for now. And then, as soon as he was done, he’d deal with their stowaway.

* * *

When Jo told him there’d been a stowaway on board, Dean had imagined some dirty peasant or a desperate kid in rags. What was waiting for him in the makeshift prison Sam had set up, however, was a man in silk stockings with shiny gold buttons on his waistcoat. His hair looked soft and clean, an anomaly no matter where they sailed, and Dean knew instantly that this motherfucker was rich. 

“Great,” he said, clapping his hands together and exchanging a conspiratorial grin with Sam. “We can ransom him off and we’ll be set for the rest of our lives.” 

The prisoner gave a great jerk and nearly toppled Sam sidelong with the force of it. Grunting, Sam shoved him against the wooden planks of the wall and glared at Dean over his head. “Maybe you should have waited ‘til later to tell me that.”

“Let me go,” the prisoner said in a surprisingly controlled voice given his situation. His blue eyes burned into Dean’s even in the darkness. “At least tell me what you plan to do with my ship.” 

“You know, I really don’t think I want to,” Dean said as he looked around the small, dank cabin they’d decided to use to contain him. Nothing but the smooth wood planks of the floor and the slightly salty, slightly musty smell of the belly of a ship

Sam fumbled at his belt and a moment later a twine of rope hit him in the thigh. 

“Thanks,” Dean drawled, stooping to retrieve it.

Sam grinned unrepentantly. “Sorry. Thought you could see it.” He pressed the prisoner harder against the wall. “Less bitching, more helping?” 

Dean grunted a reply as he began looping the rope around the prisoner’s ankles first, tying it off with a good, sturdy knot before he tied his wrists together. The man gave no sign of pain, so Dean tied it as tight as possible. 

“Dean,” Sam said in exasperation, pushing him aside to loosen the bindings. “We’re here to kill that sea serpent, not to torture hostages.”

“You’re joking,” his prisoner said with a bemused look. His forehead wrinkled and his lips thinned. “What interest could pirates have in slaying a leviathan?”

 “First of all,” Dean said, tightening the ropes around the other man’s wrists and pointedly ignoring Sam’s disapproving glare, “Leviathan is the Gatekeeper of Hell. We’re hunting a sea serpent. Secondly,” he gave an unnecessarily hard jerk at the bindings, “we’re not pirates.” 

“You’ve stolen my ship,” the man said flatly. “If not a pirate, then what are you?” 

There was a thump as Gabriel landed in the hold, bearing a lantern and a bright grin. “Family,” he said before Dean could reply. 

“Um, excuse me?” Dean said at the same time the prisoner said, disbelievingly, “Brother?” 

“Yep, it’s me, Cassy boy,” Gabriel chirped in a voice far too cheerful to be heard in the brig of a ship speeding toward a sea serpent. Gabriel was always doing things like that, though, so Dean let it go. Sort of. 

“Cassy boy?” he asked, unable to hold back a smirk at his prisoner. 

“Castiel,” the prisoner said, sounding both proud and tired.  

Dean made a face. “I think I’ll stick with Cas.” He glanced up at Gabriel with a raised eyebrow and said, “You didn’t think it would be important to mention we were stealing your brother’s ship?”

Shrugging, Gabriel set the lantern down and took up leaning against the wall in what Dean assumed was supposed to be a dramatic pose. Dean thought he just looked retarded. “I didn’t know it was my brother’s ship until we found him on it. I thought it was my father's.” He eyed Cas, the lamplight reflecting in his haze making him look almost sinister. “What are you doing with dear old dad’s ship, anyway?”

“It’s my ship for the time being,” said Cas with a stubborn jut of his chin. “I’ve been assigned the task of slaying the leviathan.”

“Sea serpent,” Dean stressed again. “Leviathan, very different thing. You don’t wanna mess with that.”

Cas spared him a seething glare before looking back to his brother. “Gabriel, I think a more appropriate question is what are you doing with these brigands?”

Dean laughed before he could stop himself. “Brigands? Seriously? Come on, man, we wouldn’t even be tying you up if you hadn’t taken out half the crew.”

“You kicked out Bobby’s legs,” Sam added. “That was cold.”

“Ice cold,” Dean agreed. “So to us, you’re the one who’s the—wait, what’d you call us?”

Cas gritted his teeth. “Brigand.”

“That’s rich,” Dean laughed again. “I’m through trying to talk to you, douchebag. I hope you enjoy your stay in Casa de Winchester.” He gestured grandly to the cramped room and then brushed past Gabriel to head back to the deck.

He was almost there when he heard the echo of Cas asking the other two, “What happened to that man’s face?”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Dean growled aloud to anybody within range to hear. He went storming back into the room, grabbed Sam and Gabriel by the scruffs of their collars, and shoved them out of the room. He slammed the door behind them, leaving just him and the bound prisoner left in the cabin together.

Cas stared at him blankly. “Is there a problem?”

“My problem,” Dean said, advancing on him dangerously, “is that you seriously wounded one of my men and tried to hurt two others. I know this situation isn’t fun and I’m sorry we accidentally kidnapped you, but this whole thing would be a lot easier if you would stop being such a dick.”

“I’m sorry if I have problems being courteous to the people who stole my ship,” Cas said.

“Yeah, that right there.” Dean pointed to his face, the condescending curve of his lips and the jut of his chin. “That’s what I have a problem with. And that’s why you’re not getting out of here.”

“You could at least allow me to speak with my brother.”

“I could, or you could play nice and _then_ I’ll let you talk to your brother.” He smiled and opened the door, letting him glimpse his freedom before he walked out and slammed the door. Through the wood, he called, “I’ll let you think on that. If you’re feeling more cooperative tomorrow, maybe we’ll talk.”

* * *

Dean woke up from a refreshing nap in the captain’s cabin to sunlight pouring in through the window. It had still been dark when he’d first clambered into the sinfully fresh and fluffy blankets. They must have been sailing East for the sun to be so bright and obnoxious.

…Wait. East? What the fuck.

He blew out of the cabin like a storm, up to the main deck toward the helm. There was Sam, compass in hand, diligently directing the course. When he saw Dean standing there, clad in just his shirt and obviously pissed off, he just grinned and said, “Morning, Dean!”

Dean glared at him. “I thought I told you to go West.”

Sam had the good grace to look sheepish. “Um, yeah, but Castiel told us to go East.”

Holding his hand up in the universal shut-your-stupid-mouth gesture, Dean closed his eyes and took a minute to contain his anger. When he felt like he could speak without spitting, he said, “So we’re taking directions from our prisoners now?”

Sam subtly inched to the side, putting the wheel between the two of them should Dean choose to lunge. “Yeah, uh, about that…”

Dean swore he literally saw red. “Please tell me he’s still our prisoner.”

“I’m not,” said a haughty voice from behind him.

Dean opened his eyes and looked skyward. Fucking God. Always fucking him over. Slowly, he turned around, and there stood Castiel, his hair blowing in the wind while his bright blue eyes burned vividly into Dean’s.

“Great,” Dean drawled, crossing his arms over his chest in a sudden moment of self-consciousness. His crew he was comfortable around, but he didn’t want rich stuck-up strangers seeing his naked legs. That shit was personal. “And whose bright idea was it to set you free?”

“Um, it was mine, actually,” Sam said with a wince. “He said he had some calculations for where to find the sea serpent, and I took a look at them and they’re actually pretty good. Since he’s looking for the sea serpent too and he’s Gabriel’s brother and all, I thought we could work together.”

“He’s a dick,” Dean said, like that was all that mattered. Because it was. You didn’t just let strange douchebags tell you where to take a ship—ignoring the fact that it was actually said douchebag’s ship. “It’s probably a trap.”

“I want to catch the leviathan as much as you do,” Cas replied solemnly, his eyes small but serious. “It’s very important to me. I’m not leading you into a trap.”

“Oh, you hear that?” Dean forced a fake grin and turned to Sam over-excitedly. “He just said he’s not leading us into a trap, so we can automatically trust him now. That won’t get us fucked over or anything.”

Sam looked plaintive. “But he’s Gabriel’s brother.”

Dean snorted. “And Gabriel is such a shining example of humanity.”

“No offense, Dean, but you’re not exactly one either. Let’s just give him a chance.”

Sighing, Dean raked a hand through his hair and tried to think through the situation rationally. He wasn’t very good at it. “One day,” he said firmly. “We give him one day, and if we don’t find that sea serpent, it’s back in the box.”

“It’ll take more than a day to reach the serpent,” Cas said, stepping past the helm to peer off the bow. The wind tugged at the pieces of his suit, the ends of his coat flapping behind his knees, but he still managed to look poised and powerful. Dean was maybe more than a little annoyed.

“How long?” he asked.

Cas glanced back at him and shrugged. “Perhaps five days. I’ve tracked the beast to his nest. We should be able to intercept it before it attacks the town.”

Okay, maybe he was annoyed and a little impressed. So what. He could have tracked it if he was a fancy rich boy who got tutored in math and stuff.

“Whatever,” Dean said, already tramping down the stairs back to his cabin. There was no way he was standing out in this wind any longer in just his shirt. One strong gust and it was a free show for everybody, and he doubted he was anybody’s type on this ship, except maybe Jo’s. “But one fuck up and you’re gone.”

Cas didn’t reply, so Dean took that as an agreement.

* * * 

“Sooo,” Gabriel began, sidling up next to Castiel with what could only be described as a smarmy grin. The wet, salty air was tossing his hair almost violently into his eyes, but he didn’t seem to care. In fact, judging by his ridiculous grin, he was actually enjoying it.

Castiel looked back out at the sea, scouring the edges of every rolling green wave for the shadow of the beast. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Gabriel said. He leaned with his back against the edge of the ship and waggled both his eyebrows. “Just wanted to know how my little bro was doing.”

Biting back an exasperated sigh, Castiel shielded his eyes against the sun and said, “I’m fine.”

“I noticed,” Gabriel replied cheerfully. “I also noticed you checking out the captain’s backside. You could bounce a gold doubloon off that, couldn’t you?”

Castiel scowled. “He’s not a real captain.”

Shifting closer, Gabriel put his face entirely too close to Castiel’s and said smoothly, “I notice that’s your only objection.”

Castiel shoved him away with one hand. “He’s also arrogant, rude, immoral, and a pirate. No.”

“Oh, come on,” Gabriel coaxed. “Why don’t you take the stick out of your ass and put something more pleasant up there?”

Castiel bristled. He turned away from the sea to glare at Gabriel with all the force of his blazing blue eyes and grabbed him by the collar of his coat. “I don’t have to listen to a deserter’s advice,” he hissed.

Strangely, Gabriel looked pleased. “And here comes the real issue,” he drawled. “You’re upset because big brother Gabe ran off. What, ten kids weren’t enough for mommy and daddy? They needed all eleven?”

Castiel tightened his hold. “We’re all individuals to them,” he said, swallowing painfully. “And we thought you were dead.”

Gabriel’s expression changed but didn’t soften. He looked cunning, not at all like the idolized older brother Castiel remembered. “I would have been better off dead than in that family,” he said. He pulled Castiel’s fingers off his collar one by one, so strong he could have broken them with a mere flick of his wrist. “You’d be better off leaving them, too.”

“They’re my family,” Castiel said coldly.

Spreading his arms, Gabriel walked backward, away from Castiel and toward the crew. “So am I,” he said. “And now this is my family. Less expectations, more rewards. And the captain ain’t too bad to look at either.”

Castiel snorted, turning his back on him, and gazed back out at the sea. It was true that Dean was easy on the eyes, but that had no bearing on Castiel’s opinion of him. What he’d seen so far painted a picture of the man as a callous, uncaring master who imprisoned people without listening to their story. Until that impression changed, Castiel had no interest in him whatsoever, neither as a friend nor as a lover.

* * * 

The next time Dean woke up in the captain’s cabin was considerably worse than the first. He might have thought it was cursed if he’d had time to think anything other than _what the actual fuck?_ when he opened his eyes and saw a row of fleshy-colored tentacles waving in the window. They passed by, revealing a giant phallic-shaped head followed by a bulbous eye peering inside.

“No fucking way,” Dean said, leaping out of bed. He yanked on his breeches and forewent his shoes. He stopped only to tie the laces and strap on his sword and his pistol before he went clambering up the stairs to the deck where the crew was already in predictable chaos.

Rufus was crouched near the cabin door, holding his stitches and panting. He looked up at Dean and scowled. “I’m getting tired of these motherfucking squids on these motherfucking ships,” he said, leveling his pistol and firing at a stray tentacle as it came creeping toward them.

Dean pulled out his sword. “Why the hell didn’t someone get me?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but there’s a _giant fucking squid_ attacking the ship.” Rufus fired again, completely severing one of the tentacles. It lay flopping disgustingly on the deck, and Rufus kicked it toward the edge.

“Yeah, I can see that now,” Dean drawled, creeping forward to survey the rest of the ship. Jo and Bobby were back to back, hacking and firing at a tentacle that was dangling one of Bobby’s wooden legs in the air. That poor son of a bitch was having no luck with those things lately.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice called urgently, somewhere above. Dean’s head snapped up and he saw Sam hanging on the crow’s nest, trying to shoot out one of the giant squid’s eyes as it attempted to latch onto the ship and drag it down into the watery depths. Smart boy, that Sammy.

“Keep doing what you’re doing!” Dean yelled back, sheathing his sword. He ran for the mast to climb up and help.

“No, it’s not that!” Sam pointed urgently with his non-pistol hand. “Cas is in trouble!”

“Cas?” Dean asked aloud, turning to look where Sam was gesturing. There, on the quarter deck, a tentacle had coiled around Cas and was heaving him in the air. Incredibly, despite being whipped around like a rag doll, Cas was still trying to slice the suckers off one by one to gain his freedom.

As impressive as it was, it was still stupid. Rolling his eyes, Dean took out his pearl-handled pistol, aimed it, and shot. But just when he pulled the trigger, a cannon ball was fired—thank God _someone_ on this ship had the brains to go to the gun deck—and his entire body swayed with the force of it. He missed the squid entirely.

The cannon ball didn’t miss, though. That was the beauty of shooting cannon balls at giant fucking squids. When something was leeching onto a boat, pressed right up against the gun deck, it was kind of impossible to miss. The giant squid let out an impressive, ear-splitting wail and quickly dove back under water. With Cas.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean swore. His legs worked without any instructions from his brain. He went running full speed toward the quarter deck, leaping up the stairs as he brandished his cutlass. He could see the surprise on Cas’s face as his body hit the deck, doubtlessly knocking the air out of him, and then the scarcely guarded fear as he was dragged along the deck toward the edge.

Dean wasn’t going to make it in time. He knew he wasn’t. His heart was pounding in his ears, his legs starting to ache and stiffen from the adrenaline. As a last ditch effort, he hurled his sword through the air, letting it fly from his fingers with what he hoped was the skill of a lifetime of hunting.

It worked. Cas abruptly stopped being dragged. Half the tentacle flew over the rail while the rest of it stayed wrapped around Cas, still trying to squeeze the life out of him even after death. It took a few moments for it to stop flopping about, and when it did, Dean saw that his sword was not only imbedded in the tentacle—he’d hit Cas, too.

“Shit,” Dean said. His legs carried him the final stretch to Cas and he knelt down to examine the damage. It hadn’t gone all the way through, thank God. Gingerly, Dean pulled it out, wiped the blade on his breeches, and sheathed it.

Cas sat up, wincing, and looked down at his wound with an expression that was both annoyed and puzzled. “I’m bleeding,” he said.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Dean looked around for someone to help, but the rest of the crew was busy recovering from their own sets of injuries and what-the-fuckery. Giant squids tended to have that effect on people.

“Why am I bleeding?” Cas asked, looking up at Dean with those brilliant eyes, and Dean winced. Cas must have really been out of it if he hadn’t realized it’d been Dean’s sword that had cut him.

“Collateral,” he said vaguely, and that was the end of the conversation. He hefted Cas into his arms, maiden-style, and staggered off to the cabins with him. Dean took special care in keeping his cutlass sharpened to a lethal point, so he didn’t doubt that wound needed immediate attention.

* * * 

“I don’t understand what this is,” Cas said when he was given dried, salted meat and a dry biscuit in what Dean was seventy-five percent sure was the infirmary.

Dean immediately wanted to kick him but held himself back. Even if he and Cas had gotten off to a rough start, Cas was still injured, and he didn’t need to add any bruises on top of that. “It’s food,” Dean said. “Bite down on the jerky while I stitch you up. And you might need some of this, too.” He nudged the bottle of rum closer with his foot.

Cas took all this in without batting an eye. Wordlessly, he took several mighty swigs of rum, barely even grimacing, and then bit down on the meat. He met Dean’s eyes and then gestured to the gash in his side as if to say, _well_? _Get on with it._

Damn rich bastard kept trying to act tough when he wasn’t.

As gently as he could—which wasn’t really very gentle at all, since Dean was a hotheaded bastard—he pulled off Cas’s coat and reached for the shiny gold buttons of his vest. Sliding each button through the hole caused enough of a stir for Dean to see the minute twitches in Cas’s face, and he knew he was in pain. Silently, he pulled off the vest and then said, “Hands over your head.”

Amazingly, Cas did as he was told, although he glared at Dean as he did it. “Am I a child now?” he asked as Dean pulled his shirt over his head.

“Close enough,” Dean said, tossing the shirt into the pile with his coat and waistcoat. “You’re an invalid for now.”

Cas grunted something unintelligible.

“Okay, then.” Dean sucked in a long breath to steady his hand and poured some rum on the wound, then took a long drink for himself. He needed his nerves as stable as possible for this shit. Squinting, he picked up the needle and the catgut he’d found and set about threading it, trying to ignore the occasional labored breaths of his patient.

Stitching up another human being was more than strange. If he thought of it like patching up a rip in his breeches it was almost tolerable, but there was something incredibly intimate about holding together a puckering wound and sliding a needle through someone else’s skin.

Cas was warm underneath his hands. His skin was soft, too soft for a sailor’s, but Dean shouldn’t have expected anything else from a spoiled rich boy. Despite the rum, Cas still grunted and winced as Dean fed the needle in and out.

That was normal. Dean didn’t know anyone besides himself and his crew who could withstand sutures like that. For what was probably his first serious injury, he was doing a damn good job.

What wasn’t normal, however, was the effect that the smooth, hot skin and the throaty noises were having on Little Dean. The slight writhing of Cas under his hands was far too reminiscent of other, more enjoyable activities that Dean hadn’t engaged in for far too long.

“Hold still,” he hissed, tugging the catgut taught and getting a better grip on Cas’s distractingly warm body. “And stop making noise. Be a man about it, will you?”

“It’s very painful,” Cas bit out through gritted teeth. His eyes smoldered angrily as they landed on Dean. “And since it was your sword that did this to me, I think you could— _ah_ —be more courteous.”

 God fucking dammit. He was not getting a halfie. He was not a sick pervert who got his rocks off on sticking a needle in somebody’s bloody, gaping wound. He was not looking at Cas’s stomach, or his chest, or the long, swanlike line of his neck. He had no interest in his sea-chapped lips or the scraping stubble on his chin.

“I’m doing my best here, man,” Dean said, trying to focus on his work. He was halfway through, and his stitches looked pretty damn good, if he said so himself. If he could just get through this, he wouldn’t have to admit that there was something terribly wrong with him for having such an inappropriate hard-on, and maybe he could seduce Cas properly if the motherfucker ever stopped bitching.

His hand slipped, and Cas gasped. His mouth was a perfect replication of what Dean imagined his O-face looked like.

“I _told_ you to be quiet,” Dean snapped.

“You’re being entirely unreasonable,” Cas said, glaring at him with all the intensity of bedroom eyes, and that was it, Dean was fucking turned on from giving someone _stitches_.

“You know what, I think I’m going to get Jo to finish this,” he said, swaying to his feet, and then ran out.

* * * 

Dean didn’t get a chance to think about Cas again until two days later when Sam rang the bell and gathered everyone on deck to declare the sea serpent had been sighted. Dean was already on deck, standing next to Sam with his hands folded behind his back, trying to look calm and authoritative. This was his crew, and if he looked like he was about to piss his pants, he would bet they’d have to rename the poop deck the second they caught sight of him.

“All right everyone, listen up,” he said as soon as the crew was assembled. He surveyed them, one by one, and lingered when his eyes passed over Cas. He looked better, healthier, but his face still seemed pale against the stiff collar of his coat. Dean made a mental note not to throw a sword at him this time. “We’ve found the sea serpent’s nest, so we’re gonna take that fucker out. I want you guys at the guns, not firing your pistols at tentacles like little girls.”

“Er,” said Sam from his side. “I think what the captain means is that this is a planned encounter, so we have battle plans. We think firing the guns will be more effective than pistols against the sea serpent, and we’ll all be safer if we’re in the gun deck loading the cannons.”

“What Sammy said,” Dean said with a nod of his head. That got a laugh out of the crew, at least. Jo raised her skinny arms and whooped.

Sam continued, “So basically we want everyone in positions at the gun decks. Starboard. Dean and I will be up here making sure you’re aimed properly. Just start firing when you hear the bell and don’t stop until it’s dead.”

“How will we know it’s dead?” Jo asked.

Bobby snorted. “Because you’ll see it stop moving.”

Jo blushed. Sam and Dean laughed. Everyone else went clambering down below to the gun deck.

Everyone except Cas, that was. For some reason, Cas lingered behind, staring unwaveringly at Dean. It might have given him the creeps if it didn’t turn him on a little. Oh, shit, did he know about that?

“Cas,” he said, walking toward him with his arms outspread, trying too hard to look casual. “Didn’t you hear the orders, buddy?”

“I did,” Cas said with an obedient nod of his head. “But I remind you that this is my ship, and as her proper captain, I’d like to be at the helm with you.”

Dean’s jaw worked soundlessly for a moment. He couldn’t really argue with that. It was obvious Cas was expecting him to say no, because he was already half-turned to the stairs. And hell, Dean really _should_ say no—Cas was already injured and he had no business being above decks with those stitches when he didn’t absolutely need to be.

But if Cas had been a real captain, Dean knew he would have been at the helm anyway, and that was probably why he found himself opening his mouth to say, “Okay.”

Dean should have known he would regret his decision. When the sea serpent finally emerged and Sam rang the bell and the cannons started firing, all shaking wood and smoke and heat, he found himself paying more attention to Cas than the sea serpent. Watching him, tensed to run across the deck and pull him to safety should the sea serpent make any move toward him. He’d given him that wound and then he’d allowed him to remain on deck with him, so he was his responsibility now. Or at least that was how he justified it in his head.

“Dean, either pay attention or let me have the wheel,” Sam snapped, grabbing the wheel and spinning it. The ship jerked and heaved as it changed course. The cannon balls stopped splashing explosively in the water and one narrowly whisked past the sea serpent as it slunk past and thrashed at them with its tail. A sail fell crashing to the deck and Cas jumped away from it.

“I’m _trying_ ,” Dean said. Which was a lie, because he was more interested in making sure Cas hadn’t been hurt by the falling sail than in listening to Sam’s directions.

“No, you’re not,” Sam grunted, elbowing him out of the way. He held the compass with one hand, the wheel in the other, and watched the sea serpent with keen, battle-hard eyes.

“Fine,” Dean said, stalking to the edge of the ship where he could keep a closer eye on Cas. Cas was standing like a statue in the wind, squinting up at the rolling clouds in the sky.

“Looks like rain,” Cas said dully.

Dean choked on a laugh. “What?”

Cas turned his head to him. “I said it looks like rain.”

Scoffing, Dean jerked his thumb at the _monster_ swimming laps around their tiny little sloop and said, “Dude, we’re fighting a fucking sea serpent and you’re thinking about the weather?”

The corner of Cas’s lip twitched in a smile. “Yes. Because I have no doubt that we’ll win.”

Cas’s words were like magic. A second later, the boom of the cannons shook the ship, and a volley of cannon balls effectively rent the serpent asunder. Or maybe it wasn’t magic—maybe it was just Sam being in control without Dean there to fuck things up, too busy keeping an eye on Cas to actually pay attention to the battle. Not really the mark of a captain. More the mark of a—

Well, he wasn’t going there.

As the massive sea serpent squalled and thrashed in the water, bleeding out an entire second ocean until all the water surrounding them ran red, Dean couldn’t help but grin. They’d fucking won. He looked over at Sam and found him whooping and ringing the bell victoriously. Sam’s eyes sought out his and they smiled at each other, giving each other mental fist bumps. That had been _awesome_.

A sudden prickle on the back of his neck had Dean looking elsewhere. To his left, standing by rail was Cas, solid and solemn. Although his mouth wasn’t grinning, his eyes were, bright and blue and triumphant. Dean grinned back.

“Congratulations,” Dean said with a tip of an imaginary hat. “This means you’ll be captain, right?”

Cas tilted his head, shuffling forward until his breath hit Dean’s cheek and ruffled his hair. He was still breathing hard from the battle, and the sound and touch of it made Dean’s pulse race. Still. God fucking dammit.

“Assuming I can have my ship back, yes.” Cas’s lips twitched. “Thank you.”

Dean swallowed around the thump of his heart in his throat and forced a laugh. “Cas, man, you’re kinda breathing my air, here. You ever heard of personal space?”

Cas frowned. “Am I standing too close?”

No, not at all. His dick gave an interested twitch and Dean knew he wanted him closer, much closer, but not here in front of his brother, for fuck’s sake. “Maybe we should talk about this in my cabin,” he said.

The words left his mouth dry. No grown man asked another grown man into his cabin to talk. Not when they were breathing the same breath, standing so close that Dean could feel Cas’s adrenaline still radiating off him. Surely with all his fancy learning Cas knew what that question really meant.

Cas squinted at him. “Technically, it’s my cabin,” he said, and then turned and strode toward the stairs.

Grinning, Dean paused to pump his fist in the air, just once. He caught Sam’s eyes again and gave him the look, the one that meant take-care-of-shit-because-I’m-about-to-be-busy. It also meant hold-on-I’m-gonna-get-laid, but usually that was with some bar wench. Sam just gave him a thumbs up and gestured for him to hurry the fuck up before Cas changed his mind.

* * * 

In the captain’s cabin, Castiel waited with his back to the room, his eyes focused out the window. It was his default state—a defense mechanism, maybe. He held his arms behind his back and sighed, letting the rolling waves of the sea calm him and distract him from the persistent, painful throb in his side.  It almost worked until he realized the waves were still red.

This was preposterous. Immoral. _Illegal_. If father ever heard of it, he’d be disowned and stripped of his status. But who would take the word of a pirate?

Castiel would. That was the thing, the part that was going to sentence him to eternal damnation. His opinion had changed so quickly that he was almost ashamed of it. Or rather, ashamed of his initial opinion of Dean Winchester. Even though Castiel was a stranger to them, a potential danger, he’d saved him and cared for him. And now that their departure was drawing close, he felt the need to express himself before the opportunity had passed.

He had no idea what he was doing. He only knew that when he looked into Dean’s eyes, he saw kindness and strength. It gave him an ache beneath his breastbone that was both painful and sweet. It was the sort of phenomenon he’d heard Anna describe but had never actually experienced himself.

Before his thoughts could go any further, he heard boots on the stairs and the labored breathing of a man who didn’t know how to properly calm himself after a battle. Dean. Castiel turned, braced for the wave of unfamiliar nerves in his abdomen, and wasn’t disappointed. Looking at Dean made him feel like he had no stomach.

“Soooo,” Dean said, grinning widely as he stopped mere centimeters from Castiel’s face. It reminded Castiel of the conversation with Gabriel, and he gave a dry laugh at the parallel.

“This may be highly improper, but we have less than five days before we return to harbor, and I think there’s something that needs to be said before then,” he said.

Some of the stupid, boyish joy drained out of Dean’s face. His body language changed, his arms coming up to cross over his chest, and he spread his legs out into a sturdier stance. “Okay, and that is?”

Castiel paused to take another look at him. Stubble over a strong jaw, a spattering of freckles in the wake of his hideous sunburn, and soft eyes. He had to admit to himself that those weren’t the eyes of a pirate. They were the eyes of a vigilante, and that was much more acceptable.

Decided, Castiel squared his shoulders, looked Dean straight in his kind eyes, and said, “I’m attracted to you.”

“Well, all right then,” Dean said, and a moment later his strong, rough fingers were framing Castiel’s stubbled chin.

It was Castiel’s first kiss. He’d expected his first kiss to be with some suitable match his father had chosen long after their wedding night, but this was better. This was teeth and tongue, stubble scraping and Dean’s hands roving over his shoulder blades and down the line of his spine. If Castiel opened his eyes, he could count every individual freckle on Dean’s nose.

Castiel drew back and blinked at him. “I assume that means you’re interested as well.”

Dean raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Oh yeah,” he said, and dove on him again. This time his mouth latched onto Castiel’s neck, sucking on a spot that made him girlishly weak in the knees.

Castiel thought that was good, but then Dean worked his hand around to Castiel’s front and dipped into his breeches, and Castiel thought that was incredible. Except for one small problem.

“I think this is inappropriate,” Castiel said, pushing at Dean’s chest until he stepped back.

Dean looked stung. “Inappropriate? What’s inappropriate about it?”

“Well.” Flushed, Castiel patted down his hair and double-checked the laces on his breeches. “Aside from the obvious,” he gestured between their two erections, “you haven’t met my family.”

Dean laughed, long and hard, until the sour look on Castiel’s face clued him in that he wasn’t joking. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Of course,” Castiel said. “It’s customary.”

“Cas, man.” Dean gave another little laugh, shifting forward until their hips were lined up. He ground his hips against Castiel’s distractingly as he said, “You know we can’t get married, right? None of that asking-your-father-for-permission bullshit applies to us.”

Castiel frowned. “What makes you think it would be you asking my father for permission?”

“Well, for starters, my father’s dead,” Dean said.

With anyone else, that probably would have been a mood killer—Castiel wouldn’t know, because he’d never been in the mood with someone else before—but neither he nor Dean seemed to mind.

Castiel refrained from commenting further and let Dean kiss him again. He had his hands slowly massaging the tiny bones behind Dean’s ears when Dean went for his laces again. His breath puffed out short and fast against Dean’s lips.

“I feel that I should tell you I’m a virgin,” he said.

Dean sighed exasperatedly and pulled away. “Really? You’re going to say that now?”

“Yes, I just did,” Castiel said, confused. “Is there something wrong with that?”

Groaning, Dean rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair until the strands stuck up haphazardly in every direction. Castiel abruptly found it to be rather endearing.

“Dean?” he prompted.

Dean lowered his hand and sighed. The sun through the window caught his eyes and made them look especially green. “I don’t have a problem with it if you don’t,” he said.

“It wasn’t a problem,” Castiel said, curving his palm to fit the shape of Dean’s cheek. “I just thought you should know.”

“I’m not gonna lie, it was pretty damn awkward.” He could feel Dean’s lecherous smile against his hand. “But the good thing is, you’ll only have to say it once.”

There was no third interruption. Dean pulled at Castiel’s clothes with a single-minded determination, first the coat, then the waistcoat. When he got to the breeches again, he gave Castiel a look that very clearly said don’t-you-dare-say-another-damn-word before he undid the laces and yanked them down. Castiel hissed at the pull on his stitches but wisely said nothing.

And then Castiel was bare from the waist down, standing vulnerable in just a shirt that hung down to his knees. Dean hitched it up with one of his big hands, up over his hip, and turned Castiel until he was pinned against the wall. He kissed and licked his way down his chest, down the arrow of dark hair between his legs, until he came to his erection.

Then Dean did the single most attractive thing Castiel had ever seen in his life; he sank to his knees, keeping Castiel’s shirt bunched up around his hip with one hand, careful of his healing wound, and fingered Castiel’s manhood with the other.

If another leviathan had crashed into the ship at exactly that moment, Castiel didn’t think he’d even notice. He’d had erections before—even been curious enough to touch himself—but it was nothing like having someone else touch him. Dean carefully traced the sensitive foreskin with his fingers and then did something even better. He licked him, actually licked him, and then put his _mouth_ on him and pushed the foreskin back with his lips and sucked and bobbed his head.

Given his lack of experience, Castiel’d had no illusions about how long he would last, but _this_ —this silky soft heat and the hot slide of Dean’s lips on his length—this was impossible to resist. He grasped the sides of Dean’s head, curling his fingers in his short hair, and held onto him as he thrust. It took less than ten seconds before he saw white behind his eyelids, and it felt like Dean was sucking his soul out from between his legs.

“That was fast,” Dean said, clambering to his feet. He spit and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

Castiel could only blink dumbly. “I did tell you I was a virgin.”

“I know.” Dean had his breeches off in what seemed like the blink of an eye. Or maybe Castiel had dozed off for a minute there. That seemed a lot more likely than Dean suddenly acquiring superhuman disrobing speeds.

When Castiel saw Dean’s manhood, all thoughts of Dean’s preternatural abilities flew from his mind. His was different from Castiel’s, but full and flush, and Castiel took it in his hand and began rubbing it like Dean had without a second thought.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Dean said.

Castiel dropped his hand away immediately. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Virgin handjobs,” Dean gasped, wincing and covering his arousal with both hands. “I forgot how bad they are.”

Castiel furrowed his brows. “Bad?”

Dean nodded, straightening and working himself one-handed. He closed his eyes for a moment, until he was thick and hard again, and then took Castiel’s hand and guided it over his length with his fingers. “Like this,” he grunted, squeezing and leading Castiel’s hand up and down.

“That’s exactly what I was doing,” Castiel said.

Dean laughed breathily and squeezed Castiel’s hand hard enough that surely he could feel it even on his erection. “Not even close.”

If Castiel hadn’t been a proud nobleman, he might have admitted to blushing. Whether it was from embarrassment over his failure or the sheer sensation of being guided through a “handjob”, as Dean had called it, he didn’t know. But he liked it. He whispered as such into the shell of Dean’s ear, and Dean groaned. Castiel licked his earlobe, and Dean _shuddered_.

Castiel smirked. This was much easier to work with. With Dean’s guidance and Castiel’s strategic attack on Dean’s neck and ears, it was over within minutes. Still five or six times as long as Castiel had lasted, but judging from the dazed and sated luster in Dean’s eyes, it was over much faster than it usually was.

“Wow,” Dean said, slapping Castiel on his buttocks. “A little more practice and you might actually be good at that.”

Castiel tilted his head, unfazed by the swat to his rump, and wiped his white, sticky hand on Dean’s shirt. “And I suppose you’re going to teach me?”

Dean grinned, predatory, completely uncaring that Castiel had just effectively ruined his shirt. That, or clearly announced their sexual relationship to the entire ship after they saw the stains.

“You’d better believe it,” Dean said.

* * * 

“I’ve been thinking,” Dean said as they sailed back toward Kingston Harbor the next day, Sam and Gabriel at the helm as Dean dicked around in his cabin and Cas did all the calculations for him.

“Oh?” said Cas.

Dean frowned at him and kicked his chair. “Hey, pay attention to me, this is some serious shit I’m about to say.”

Sighing, Cas carefully laid down the fountain pen on top of his maps and documents and focused on Dean with weary eyes. “Yes, Dean?”

Now that he had Cas’s attention, he didn’t know what to do with it. He suddenly felt a little self-conscious, lounging in his cabin in just his shirt and breeches—wait, no, fuck that. Dean Winchester was never self-conscious or nervous or any of that shit. He just didn’t want to have to spend a fucking awkward trip back to Kingston Harbor if Cas said no.

He licked his lips and leaned forward earnestly. “I was just thinking that—well, you know we’re not really bad guys, right? You’re not still thinking that crazy shit about pirates and brigands?”

Cas huffed out a laugh. “I think you and your crew do brave deeds, but the way you extract your fees without any agreement from the townspeople is somewhat disreputable.”

Dean squinted. “So, in the King’s English, that means no?”

Cas smiled at him, bright and warm, and said, “Correct. I don’t think you’re a bad person.”

“Well, good.” Dean wiped his sweaty palms on his shirt, right next to the come stain that he hadn’t had the time or patience to scrub out yet. “’Cause I was thinking maybe you should come with us.”

It was obvious from the way Cas’s eyes dimmed that he was going to say no. Dean held in the disappointment and the swearing and held on, digging his nails into the wood of the chair he was sitting on, and waited for it. And waited.

“Well?” he asked when he couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“I’m thinking,” Cas said like it was obvious, almost condescendingly. “While I’d like to remain here, I do have certain obligations to my father. I would miss my family.”

Dean snorted. Of all the fucking excuses.

“Dude, aren’t you an adult? Can’t you make your own choices?” He gestured above them to where Gabriel was probably flouncing around the deck. “Your brother did, and he seems pretty damn happy.”

Cas’s expression grew pinched. “That’s Gabriel, not me. I’ve always been loyal to my father.”

“No offense, but your dad seems like a dick,” Dean said. Cas immediately looked defensive, and something inside Dean snapped. “You know what, actually, yes. Offense. Your dad is a dick. Who sends their son out to fight a fucking _sea serpent_ to prove his worth? That’s some biblical shit right there. No one even does that anymore. You shouldn’t have to kill some damn monster to prove yourself to your own dad.”

Cas fell silent, looking down at his mess of papers and map and smeared ink. He stared at it as seriously as he stared at everything else, to the point where Dean thought he was trying to burn a hole through the table with his mind. Maybe that had been a little harsh. He opened his mouth to say something along those lines when Cas waved him off.

“Don’t,” Cas said, frowning. “It’s true. It was unfair of my father to ask me to do this, but…” He trailed off, slumping forward to dig his hands into his hair.

Sickeningly, Dean felt like he understood. He knew the rest of that sentence without even asking. “But he’s your father,” he said, gruffly, and rubbed the stubble on his jaw. There was no way to argue with shit like that.

Cas lifted his head with a small nod. “Exactly.”

Dean pushed down the disappointment and the resentment with a faint, forced smile. “It’s cool, man, I understand. I get the whole family thing.” He felt self-conscious again, girly as that was, and reached for his waistcoat and drew it on. “If you change your mind,” he said, sounding way more casual than he actually felt, “we can probably stay docked until sunrise after we get there. And you’ve still got a few days to think about it, so…”

“You don’t mean to return my ship to me?” Cas asked in surprise.

Dean felt jolted. “Wasn’t planning on it,” he said, already pushing himself to his feet. He needed to do a few rounds, anyway—make sure Gabriel hadn’t set the deck on fire or molested Sam at the helm or anything. “You gonna turn me in if I don’t?”

“Well, it is my ship. I thought with the bond we’d formed that you’d give it back to me.”

Dean paused at the door to his cabin and grimaced. He looked over his shoulder at the man sitting at his table, doing the calculations he wasn’t smart enough to do, and dredged up a grin. “And I thought with the _bond_ we’d formed that you’d stay and sail it with me.” And then he slammed the cabin door behind him.

* * * 

Castiel awaited his return home with equal parts anticipation and nerves. He was impatient to tell his father of his success—well, his exaggerated success, since it was actually Dean and his crew who had slain the monster. His conscience was a little stuck on that detail, and he hadn’t quite worked out what to tell his father yet. His heart ached for glory, but it also ached for—

“You lookin’ at the weather again?” Dean asked.

“No,” he said with a small smile. At least Dean was talking to him again, even though his words were tinged with the bitter bite of rejection. Which was preposterous, given that Castiel hadn’t actually rejected him yet. “I’m looking for the harbor.”

“Right,” Dean said with that little note of disappointment. The inevitability of Kingston Harbor in the distance, just beyond the clouds and the horizon, seemed to be weighing heavily on them both. Castiel knew it would mean goodbye.

“I would much rather be here with you,” Castiel said by way of apology. “But I must at least speak with my father first.”

Something lit up in Dean’s green eyes as he turned to him. The sunburn was gone now, leaving a healthy tan and a fresh wake of freckles. He looked like he was  fighting a losing battle with hope. “So you’re really considering it?”

Castiel pursed his lips. “I’m not sure,” he said honestly. The light left Dean’s eyes and he immediately felt compelled to elaborate. “I’ve barely known you a week whereas I’ve known my family my entire life. It’s very difficult to make such a large decision in such a small amount of time.”

Angrily, Dean smacked his hand against the rail of the ship and said, “Yeah, but your family _sucks_. You’d be so much better off here, with—with the crew.”

They both knew Dean had been about to say “me”. Castiel might have agreed with him, had something else not drawn his attention.

“My family has nothing to do with this,” he said. “It’s my father’s actions you take issue with. I have ten brothers and sisters who don’t deserve your judgment.”

Dean ground his teeth together. “If your ten brothers and sisters let you go on this dumb quest, then they’re not worth going back to.”

“I’m done with this conversation,” Castiel said, surprising himself with his malice. Even Castiel had questioned his father’s methods at times, but his siblings, especially Anna, warranted no scorn. “You can have the ship, but I’m going back to my father’s. I wish you all the luck with your pillaging,” he forced out, and turned his back on Dean the rest of the voyage to Kingston Harbor.

* * *

“Castiel, you’re an idiot.”

Castiel turned away from the window in his father’s house with a faint sense of déjà vu, looking over his shoulder to find Anna standing in the same doorway from a week ago. The medal his father had given him weighed heavily on his clothes, dragging down his heart, even though it had only been pinned to his chest for a few hours now. “Why am I an idiot?” he asked, feeling far more tired than he should.

“You seem to have this idea in your head that I’m blind,” Anna said, sweeping across the floor in another one of her extravagant dresses. It was blue today, setting off her vibrant hair, and the hoop skirt swayed with her gait. She gestured toward the window and said, “You’re moping over something again. Why don’t you go get it?”

Castiel found himself frowning. “I can’t. I’ve just been promoted to captain by father, commended for my work in slaying the leviathan. It would be ungrateful of me to leave now.”

“Oh, please.” Anna rolled her eyes and stood at his side. The decorative comb in her hair caught the sunrise and glittered, reminding Castiel of Dean’s offer, should it still stand. “You’ve never been cut out for the navy, Castiel. We both know that.”

Castiel blinked. The sunrise was momentarily forgotten. “Pardon me?”

“I said, you’ve never been cut out for the navy. You’ve always been buried in your books and calculations. Do you really think making captain will make father proud?”

“Yes,” he replied, unwavering. He knew this for a fact. Father had told him so as he’d awarded him the medal and shown him the paperwork naming him a captain.

“Well, maybe you’re right. Maybe it will. But is that worth your own happiness?” Anna asked.

Castiel knew where this was going. He was about to get some grand, profound speech about following his heart and doing what made him happy. The navy made him happy. His father’s pride made him happy. “Yes,” he said.

To Castiel’s surprise, Anna looked sad. She cast her eyes to the sunrise and removed the comb from her hair, the red locks falling to swoop across her face. Pressing the comb into Castiel’s palm, she bowed her head and said, “Here. This is to remember me by when you inevitably realize what a fool you’re being and go to the harbor.”

Castiel tried to open his hand to give it back, but she pressed his fingers closed over it. “I won’t need it,” he said firmly. “I’m not going anyway. My loyalty is to—”

Anna cut him off. “I think father would be proud to have a son who stood up for himself. Just don’t be Gabriel. Make sure you actually tell him before you leave.” She kissed his cheek, leaving behind the scent of her perfume and the impression of the first rays of sunshine in her red hair, and strode purposely from the room.

Left alone with his thoughts, Castiel looked down at the sunrise reflecting in the comb and sighed.

* * * 

Dean was either working with a crew of monkeys or a crew of five-year-olds. He hadn’t decided which yet. Whatever they were, they were the most incompetent bunch of retards he’d ever encountered in his life.

He kicked over a bucket of soapy water on the deck as he walked past it. “Whose bright idea was it to leave this here?” he snapped at nobody in particular. “When I said to clean the deck I thought I actually meant clean the deck, not do a half-assed job and then leave your shit out.” There were still chipped brown remnants of sea serpent blood sprayed on the deck that Dean was sick of looking at.

“Woah,” said Sam, watching him with huge eyes. “If you must know, I asked Jo to help Rufus and Bobby with the sails. She’s going to finish with the deck as soon as they’re done.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean huffed and kicked the bucket again. “You could’ve told me about that, you know? Now I look like an ass.”

Eyes narrowing, Sam folded his arms across his giant chest and said, “You look like an ass anyway. Are you really that upset about Cas leaving?”

“No,” he said automatically, and even Dean had to wince at the quick, defensive way he’d said it.

“Yeahhh, I’m totally not buying that.” Sam uncrossed his arms and put one gigantor hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Look, why don’t you go to your cabin and calm down a little. You’re no use to anyone like this. Maybe you should get some sleep.”

“I’m not a baby,” Dean snapped. “I don’t need a nap.”

Sam gave him a look that no younger brother should be able to give. It was the kind of look Dean himself had given Sam when they were kids and Sam was being cranky and rubbing his eyes. It was the look that meant stop-trying-to-act-grown-up-and-take-a-fucking-nap.

“Dean,” Sam said, and Dean threw his hands in the air.

“Fine,” he grunted. He gave the bucket one final kick and sent it flying overboard. Big fucking deal. He was sure Captain Fancypants Cas had more buckets stocked on this boat somewhere. Ignoring Sam’s sharp yell of “Dean!” and the following admonishment, Dean turned and stormed into his quarters.

Dean’s storming fell abruptly flat when he slammed his cabin door behind him and noticed a lump under his covers. He felt a split second of hope before his rage came churning back and he strode over, ripping the blankets away. He was in no mood for this bullshit. “Gabriel, for the last time, it’s fuckin’ weird when you—”

“Hello,” Cas said peacefully from his nest of blankets. He was smiling, the corner of his lip upturned only slightly, but enough for Dean to stagger back with surprise.

“What the fuck,” Dean said. He rubbed his eyes and then opened them again, but Cas was still there, in his bed, looking like he belonged. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Sitting up, Cas smoothed down his bed-rumpled hair and said, “I was under the impression you wanted me here.”

“Yeah, but, I mean, your dad and your family and shit—weren’t you going to stay with them?”

“I was,” Cas said, shifting to the edge of the bed. He was within arm’s length now and the temptation to push him back into the mattress was growing stronger every second. “But then my family advised that I would be happier here.”

Fuck it, Dean was giving in. He fell forward with his knees on either side of Cas’s thighs, trapping him, but Cas didn’t look trapped; he looked pleased. Dean kissed Cas’s stupid smiling mouth and said, “That is such bullshit.”

Cas pouted. Dean didn’t care if he denied it ‘til his dying day, but that expression was definitely a pout. “It’s true,” Cas said.

Dean sat back, settling on Cas’s knees, and snorted. “Your dad said to go off with some _brigands_ and abandon your navy career?”

“No.” Before Dean could shove his victory in Cas’s face, Cas continued, “My sister did. But when I informed my father of my decision, he told me my life was mine to live how I wished.”

Dean tried to keep the smirk off his face and failed. “So this is how you wanna live?” he asked, grinding his hips into Cas’s for emphasis.

And Cas, stone-faced and serious, replied, “Yes.”


End file.
